


i may have died but your lovin' raised me

by glitterbrain



Category: Final Fantasy X-2
Genre: F/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex, rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterbrain/pseuds/glitterbrain
Summary: "“Paine,” he says. “You said it yourself; it’s been two years and a lot has changed. You don’t think we’re both strong enough to make it work now?”She sets her jaw. “I don’t know,” she says. It comes out as a whisper.With a bit of effort, he leans forward, lifting her chin until she’s looking at him. He looks very serious, searching, analyzing. She could get lost in that look, those calculating blue-gray eyes. “Fears aside,” he says, “what do you want, Paine?” Again, no assumptions, no suggestions. Just a question that cuts to the quick."In the Celsius's cabin, Paine and Nooj come together.
Relationships: Nooj/Paine (Final Fantasy X-2)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	i may have died but your lovin' raised me

**Author's Note:**

> This is lowkey dedicated to L56895 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/L56895), whose recent Nooj/Paine kinktober oneshots inspired me to finally polish this off and publish it. Thank you for helping to keep the SS Rarepair afloat Q_Q7
> 
> I've loved this ship ever since I played the game as a wee lass when it first came out, and I used to write little oneshots about them back then as well, but they were.......... Very Very Bad lol. Started this one a couple years ago after playing the X/X-2 remaster, then finally finished it this week. This is probably one of the rarest rarepairs I ship (tears roll down my face) so I've always wanted to contribute.
> 
> Title is from Lord Huron's 'Louisa' because I hate naming things ayyyy

The doors of the lift open with a hiss, and Paine makes her way into the cabin of the Celsius. It’s warm and quiet here, in contrast with the wild party going on up on the deck. If she concentrates, she’s pretty sure she can hear Brother shouting even from here.

She heads up the stairs and surveys the beds; all empty, thank goodness. In fact, the entire cabin is empty except for one solitary figure standing near the far bed. Nooj. His back is turned to her and his head is dropped, and in the darkness it’s hard to see him except for the dim light glinting off his prosthetics.

She clears her throat as gently as she can, trying not to startle him as she walks over. He turns and looks at her; he’s holding a picture, one that had been taken on a timer, of the entire Gullwings team. It’s crooked and a little blurry, but it had been their first try.

“Hey,” he says, setting the picture down. There’s a subtle warmth to his voice, something she hasn’t heard in a long time.

“What’re you looking at that for?” she asks, standing beside him to scrutinize it. It’s so old, or maybe it just feels that way, like the Paine in the picture belongs to another life.

“Just looking,” he says. “It’s… interesting the way all of our lives went after...” He swallows. Paine looks up at him, cutting him off before he feels like he has to finish his sentence.

“Yeah. I’m the only one who didn’t get hopelessly entangled in politics.”

“At first,” he says, fixing her with a smirk. She smirks back.

“At first.”

Nooj sits down on the edge of the bed and rests his cane against the nightstand, stretching his good leg out and massaging it.

“Had enough of the party?” he asks. She crosses her arms, looking around the huge, darkened room.

“I wanted first dibs on a bed before they all filled up,” she says.

He laughs, gently but genuinely, and affection floods her. He’s always seemed so much older than he is, but when he laughs it’s like seeing the person he could have been, or maybe the person he is somewhere deep down.

“Well, sorry to say, but I did beat you here.” He massages his thigh, wincing a bit. She tilts her head towards him.

“What’s wrong?”

It takes him a moment to figure out what she’s talking about, his expression shifting several times. “Hm? Oh, nothing.” He winces again, just a bit. “Just been on my feet too long.”

She steps towards him, even though she’s not really sure  _ why _ . It’s not like there’s much she could do to help, it’s just instinctual. He looks up at her, over the tops of his glasses, and quirks an eyebrow.

“Are you worried about me?” he asks, teasing. She ruffles his hair, harder than is necessary, scoffing.

“Shut up.”

He grabs her wrist, fast but not aggressive, and pulls her hand off his head, brings it to the side of his face instead. Her fingertips burn. He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. She brushes her thumb over his cheekbone, under the rim of his glasses.

“Mm. I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice low and fond, sending warmth through her body.

“I’ve missed you too,” she says, “jackass.”

He lets her have her hand back and she sits down on the bed beside him, on his good side, sliding her arm around his. He smells nice, like spice and soap and machina oil.

“I like it when you laugh,” Paine says, resting her head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, resting his chin on top of her head. She can hear him breathing, can hear his heart beating. All such unexceptionally human things to attribute to an exceptional legend like Nooj.

“I like it, too,” he says. “And I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly.

“I mean it.” He sounds fake offended, squeezing her arm against his. When he speaks again, however, he sounds very serious. “Do you remember how much we used to tease each other? All of us? In the Crimson Squad?”

“Yeah.” Paine laces her fingers through his and squeezes. “It was even rarer to get a laugh out of you then.”

“Mm.” He takes a breath, squeezes her hand too. “A lot has changed since then.” It’s a statement with a lot of weight, and he says it in almost a whisper, like it’s a sacred thing. And maybe to him it is. She pulls away and looks at him. His eyes are soft, appraising, always alert.

“I’m glad for it,” she says.

“Me too.”

A heartbeat passes, and she leans in, kissing him. His lips are dry, his face covered in day-old stubble; he kisses her back with intention, slow and deliberate, the very tip of his tongue catching her lip, teasing her. She wants to call him another name, but that would require pulling away.

He hums when she presses closer, and she responds with a toothless growl, claiming his mouth and tongue with the same laser-focused determination she fights with. She  _ has _ missed him. Missed the thoughtful, calculating, quietly-confident aura of him, of having someone around to whom she feels so equally matched. She loves the Gullwings, but she’s missed Nooj’s particular brand of masculinity.

Nooj lets go of her hand and it finds her cheek, pulls her deeper, his upper body twisting to face her. She pushes into his space, one hand sliding around his back and the other coming to rest on his thigh.

This makes him pause, look down at her hand.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asks.

He blinks, his brows furrowing. “No,” he says. “Just more forward than you used to be.”

“A lot has changed,” she echoes him, her voice light. He meets her eyes, smiling a little.

“I’m glad for it.”

He resumes kissing her, and warmth floods her, tingles in her limbs, makes her heart beat a little faster. He uses the hand on her face to tilt her head, his lips finding her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, all in agonizing, deliberate slowness, and then back down to her lips, just briefly, before descending towards her neck. She swallows, feels his breath tickle her skin, helps to support his weight as he leans forward to kiss and lick her neck, still with that same intentional, unhurried slowness that makes her so impatient for more, yet simultaneously wish this one moment could stretch on for hours.

Paine slides both her arms around him, around his broad, solid chest, and squeezes him as she tilts her head to the side, sighing contentedly. His lips ghost over her skin, calculating, taking her in, his hand sliding around the back of her neck to cradle her head, fingers pressed into the base of her skull. She shivers as she feels the briefest pinch of his teeth on her vein before his lips and tongue soothe over it.

Nooj makes a noise deep in his chest; he’s ascending now, retracing his path, fueling the growing fire in her core. She slides a hand across his chest until she reaches the zipper of his jumpsuit, where she pauses for just a moment, twisting the pull of it between her fingers. She feels him smile against her skin, feels his nose nuzzle against her before he resumes kissing her, with a little more enthusiasm now.

She drags her nails down his zipper, splays her fingers flat and sweeps a hand across his stomach, which gets her a shudder and another nuzzle.

“Paine…” It’s a breath, thick with heat and affection. She lets her hand dip lower, between his thighs, until she can feel his arousal. He groans into her neck, slumping against her, then kisses her properly again.

This kiss is all teeth and tongue, no teasing, no calculating or exploration, just the desperate need to  _ feel _ , to  _ taste _ , to  _ claim _ . His hand leaves her face to snake under her arm and pull her flush against him, as well as he can, his machina prosthetic hand coming to rest on her arm as if to keep her from withdrawing her own from between his thighs; not something he has to worry about, but she can’t necessarily blame him.

“You wanna do this on the bed properly?” she asks between kissing, and he pauses. Even now his eyes are clear and alert, and he looks around the cabin.

“You don’t think anyone will come down here?”

She considers for a moment. “You’ve never been to a Gullwing party,” she says at length. “Especially with Gippal and Baralai up there, and Yuna’s boyfriend, what’s-his-name? It’ll be a while.” She finally draws away from him, but only to pull off her boots. He follows suit.

Paine lets him get comfy before she settles between his legs, lets her hands rest in the junctions between his hips and thighs. He watches her, an enigmatic little smirk on his face, his eyes soft but obviously curious.

“Hey,” she says, “I don’t want things to be weird between us, okay?”

He leans back against the headboard of the bed. “Is this weird for you?”

“No,” she says, looking down at where her hands are resting, because looking at the outline of his cock is somehow easier than looking at his face. “I mean afterwards. From now on.”

“Mm.” It’s his placeholder noise; thinking of what to say next. His large hands settle on her thighs, and even his prosthetic feels hot against her skin.

“I know things are different now than they were two years ago,” she says, “but I’ve missed you. I don’t…” Her voice trails off, dying despite her attempt to keep it alive. She bites her lip and steels herself; she  _ will _ get this out, dammit. “I don’t want to lose you again.” It comes out sounding more like a stern order than any sort of request or secret, which is far more what it feels like in her soul. But still, it’s out, and at the moment that’s all that matters.

Nooj takes a deep breath, his good hand creeping towards her inner thigh, his thumb brushing along the seam of her shorts.

“You want to be together?” he asks. It’s not an assumption or a suggestion, just a question.

“I don’t know,” she says, her hands sliding up his chest to fiddle with the first of many buckles. It comes apart easily. “That seems a little risky.”

“Risky?” He sounds mildly amused. “I don’t follow.”

Paine still doesn’t meet his eyes, her tongue feeling weirdly swollen in her mouth, like it always does when she tries to be frank about her feelings. Her hands tighten around the next buckle, further down his chest. “Because... if it didn’t work out I’d still end up losing you.”

“Mm.” Nooj’s hands flex, fingertips tightening into the meat of her thighs. “What makes you think it wouldn’t work out?”

She shakes her head, shrugging a little. “Just used to things getting fucked up, I think,” she says, trying for unaffected and light but landing somewhere near annoyingly aloof. She unhooks the buckle she’s holding, but Nooj lays his hand over hers before she can move to the next.

“Paine,” he says. “You said it yourself; it’s been two years and a lot has changed. You don’t think we’re both strong enough to make it work now?”

She sets her jaw. “I don’t know,” she says. It comes out as a whisper.

With a bit of effort, he leans forward, lifting her chin until she’s looking at him. He looks very serious, searching, analyzing. She could get lost in that look, those calculating blue-gray eyes. “Fears aside,” he says, “what do you  _ want,  _ Paine?” Again, no assumptions, no suggestions. Just a question that cuts to the quick.

She blinks. Contemplates turning the question back on him, because maybe hearing him say it first would make it easier for her. But instead she swallows the hard lump in her throat and gathers up all the courage she knows resides somewhere inside of her; how is it that fighting a massive superweapon for the fate of the planet had been easier than this?

“I… I want to be with you,” she says. He grins, eyes softening, and something about his expression makes her heart clench. He lets his head drop to rest against hers.

“Then we’ll make it work,” he says.

_ How can you be so sure?  _ some scared part of her wants to say. “Fuck,” she says instead. “You better be right.”

He huffs out a laugh, the frames of his glasses digging into her skin as he presses his nose against her cheek. “I have little reason to doubt that I am.”

She kisses him, her hands resuming their work on his buckles as his slide up her sides to pull her a little closer. She makes quick work of his belts, and wastes no time unzipping his jumpsuit as far as she can, slipping her fingers under the fabric to touch where he’s still mostly hard beneath plain black underwear. He groans in approval, tugging her closer by the waistband of her shorts, which he then pulls insistently at.

“Off,” he says, and it’s not so much an order as it is a desperate plea, one she wholly agrees with. She helps him to slip out of his jumpsuit and underwear (By necessity he keeps his glasses, not that she’s complaining; she’s always thought they were handsome) before divesting herself of her own clothes, tossing them carelessly into a pile beside the bed.

Settling back into her previous places between Nooj’s legs, Paine slides her hands along his skin, reveling in the feeling of it bare beneath her fingers. She’s never seen him in any state of undress before, never seen the strange bundles of scars where human flesh meets machina prosthetic, or how he has a slight tan-line from his jumpsuit, or the sparse, light hair on his chest and stomach. Again, it strikes her just how  _ normal _ it all is, and she wonders how many other women have gotten to see this human Nooj instead of legendary war hero Nooj.

She traces over his broad, well-muscled chest and stomach, just how she imagined him -- briefly wonders if he’s as satisfied with her as she is with him -- over old scars, down through coarse hair between his legs. Before she can touch him properly, however, he grabs her hand, and she almost wants to chastise him for stopping her yet again. Finding his expression genuinely troubled when she looks up at him, however, makes her pause.

“What?” she says, some small irrational part of her preparing for rejection. But he’s not looking at her face, and she suddenly understands. Just over her right breast, usually covered by her top, is the scar that pulls and puckers her skin in a gruesome knot.

“Is that it?” he asks, brushing over it with his thumb. The nerves are long-dead, so she doesn’t feel his touch.

“That’s the exit wound,” she says.

His face pales a bit, but his expression doesn’t change. She grabs his wrist, placing his hand on her cheek.

“I’m so sorry.” He breathes it, barely audible, thick with emotion, and it settles deep into the space between them, the gravity of it. She smiles, leaning into his hand, turning to kiss his palm.

“I know.” He stares at her, brows furrowed, brushing his thumb over her cheek, searching again. She can see it in his eyes, all the things he can’t bring himself to say; she can see it because she feels the same thing. It’s a conversation - a thousand conversations - to be had another day, trauma to be worked through sometime else.

She shakes her head. “Not now,” she says, pushing closer. “We have time.”

Uncertainly, he grins, still petting her cheek. “I suppose we do.”

He wraps his good arm around her waist to pull her closer, his less-limber prosthetic resting on her hip. He dips his head to kiss at the scar on her shoulder, and she shudders even though she can’t feel it.

He moves from there to her chest, lifting her a little higher so he can kiss and nip at her neck and collarbones. She lets herself relax into his unyielding arm, luxuriating in his lips on her skin and the contented rumbling deep in his chest. He licks a long stripe up the vein of her throat and every muscle in her body contracts, her nails digging into his shoulders, breath hitching.

“Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He leaves a trail of sticky, open-mouthed kisses down her neck and chest, makes his way to her breasts, and when he closes his mouth around one of them, tongue lapping at her nipple, Paine moans, arching her back into him, spreading her legs further apart to straddle his stomach, almost embarrassed at how wet and aching she already is. He hums in response, a low purr that resounds through her ribs.

Desperate, she ruts against him, and he shivers, strong fingers pressing into the small of her back to coax her along. “Do what you need,” he whispers, and so she does, grinding down against him, one hand on his shoulder and the other dug into the peach fuzz at the nape of his neck. Between his insistent licking and sucking at her breasts, his machina fingers ghosting up her spine, his other arm pulling her so tightly flush against him it’s difficult to breathe, his breath catching every time she rocks her hips, it takes her maybe twenty seconds before she’s suddenly climaxing with a full body shudder and a long, breathless moan.

Before she’s come all the way down Nooj kisses her with a bruising, scorching force, frenzied like a man starving. He licks and bites at her lip and she tries to keep up, grinning against his mouth. She’s never seen him like this before, never even really imagined him so open and expressive; she’s fantasized about him, to be sure, but even in her fantasies he’s stoic, serious, nearly silent. The reality is wholly preferable.

“Why didn’t we do this years ago?” he asks when they pull apart, breathing hard. She rests her forehead on his, taking a moment to breathe in the sticky air between them.

“I’m a little glad we didn’t,” she says at length, hoping her implicit meaning comes through. Would any of their relationship have been reconcilable after the Den of Woe? Trust had already been shattered and the consequences enormous; how much worse would it have been had they been together?

“Mm.” It’s a mournful noise, and he squeezes her tightly. “Then we should make it count now. We have years to make up for.”

“Better late than never,” she says. She kisses his cheek and then pushes away from him, just enough that she can settle between his thighs again. Small, tingling aftershocks of her climax still skitter through her veins, and her arousal is stoked again when she gets a hand on Nooj’s cock. He lets out a shaking sigh, eyes fluttering shut and head thumping back against the headboard behind him. She grins, feeling more than a little smug all of the sudden, watching him melt into her touch, watching his hips cant up in counter to her fist, watching his cock flush scarlet and leak precome over her fingers.

_ Mine _ .

She moves slowly, has no desire to do anything but tease him, get him worked up, but even still he squirms under her, gasping and trembling.  _ Fayth _ , it’s a beautiful sight; she stares unabashedly, tries to burn every detail into her brain.

She bends down and gives him an experimental lick; he groans loudly, hand suddenly fisting in her hair and pulling her back as his hips jerk forward. She snorts, straightening up, and he looks somewhat apologetic.

“Sorry,” he says, stroking her hair where he’d grabbed it. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

She wipes the precome off her chin with the back of her hand. “I’m not complaining,” she says, quirking an eyebrow at him. “It was nice.”

He actually seems to  _ blush _ at this, which strikes her as extremely endearing. So naturally commanding on the field, yet perhaps a bit shy about translating that authority into bed? Something to be explored, for sure, and Paine files it away for the future.

“Hey,” she says, and he looks at her with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. “What’s a good position for you? For your prosthetics?”

His grin turns a little lopsided, one eyebrow quirking. “Paine…” Strangely teasing, deflective.

“I mean it,” she says. “Show me. This has to be good for you, too, okay?” She digs her fingers into his hips. “We’re doing this right. No old bad habits.”

His expression shifts just a little, his smile faltering for a moment as he considers her words. He’s always been so self-sacrificial, to a fault. It’s a mystery Paine hasn’t quite been able to reach the answer to yet. But if he doesn’t believe he deserves nice things - even nice sex - she doesn’t need to know the answer to be able to do something about it. At length, he relents, albeit still looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Hands and knees,” he says, leaning forward.

She pulls him up, helps him into position; his machina leg doesn’t bend at a ninety-degree angle but his other three limbs are enough to keep him upright. She settles underneath him, caged by flesh and machina, sliding backwards carefully until he enters her. They both sigh, and Paine shivers at the burning stretch of underused muscles. He doesn’t move, though, shaking, and it takes her a moment to realize it’s from effort rather than pleasure. She turns her head.

“Nooj.” She can’t help the scolding tone, which she then tries to undercut with what she hopes comes out as good-natured sarcasm. “I said a  _ good _ position.”

“Feeling strong?” he asks, still dancing around the point.

“Just tell me what you need,” she says. He finally sags down against her, resting his weight on her. He’s hot and sticky with sweat and heavy, but not so bad that she has to tap out. It’s actually kind of comforting.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” She wriggles her ass against him and he huffs, finally moving, rocking his hips until he’s pressed all the way flush against her, and then pulls back, a little stilted, trying to find a pace, panting in her ear. “ _Fuck_ , that feels good,” she gasps, because it does, and she wants him to know, wants him to know how good it should be. He laughs, a shaky sound as he settles into rhythm.

“Not going to last,” he says, dropping his head to rest in the crook of her neck.

“‘S okay,” she says, readjusting her arms so that one hand is underneath his, fingers laced together, and the other is between her legs. “I didn’t either.”

He seems to be about to reply, but it dissolves into staccato gasping and mindless whispering, and even though his mouth is right next to her she can’t quite make out what he’s saying; still, it’s absolutely one of the loveliest things Paine has ever heard, his breath hot on her skin, lips nibbling along the shell of her ear, their breathless voices breaking the silence otherwise filled with the obscene sounds of sex.

She presses her palm hard against her clit and reaches back with her fingers, is able to feel where they are joined together, feels Nooj’s cock as it jerks in and out of her, slick with her arousal, and she climaxes again with a hiss, muscles fluttering, thunder pounding in her veins.

Nooj’s hips stutter, slow a little as he relishes the feeling of those pulsing inner muscles with an appreciative growl, and then he resumes with renewed speed, for all of about ten seconds before he pushes in hard, bites down on her shoulder, and comes deep in her heat. She presses back against him, squeezing his hand, rolling her hips slowly and reveling in the sound of his panting.

“Sshhit,” he says at length, and laughter bursts out of her before she can stop it; such rare profanity from him is a treat. He laughs too. Her heart swells. She lets her joints buckle in stages until she’s laying flat on the bed with him on top of her. “Paine--”

“Just for a sec,” she says, curling up against him, pulling his good arm under her to rest her head on it. “Feels good.”

He nuzzles into her, kissing the back of her neck, the tip of her ear, her cheek. She doesn’t want to move -- doesn’t want him to move -- just wants to exist here sandwiched between the bed and his body with him kissing her, forever. She half dozes, warm and spent and a little sore, but so calm and content it feels almost uncomfortably foreign.

“I need to move,” he says eventually, and she nods, relinquishing his arm and pushing herself up, taking him with her until he’s in a position to move more effectively on his own. He rolls onto his back, chest and stomach expanding as he sighs, amd massages the joint where his shoulder connects to his prosthetic. She sits at the edge of the bed, cooling off, and takes in the sight of him greedily, naked and flushed and sweaty, glasses askew and hair mussed. He catches her eye and his expression shifts, a little amused and sly. “Enjoying the view?”

She can’t help but grin, somewhat self-consciously, her body suddenly feeling restless. Feeling a bit like a silly teenager, she bends over to scoop up the pile of disheveled clothing on the floor. He lifts himself up onto his good elbow.

“Are you going?” He sounds uncharacteristically apprehensive.

“No,” she says, pulling on her underwear and taking a moment to stretch. “Just getting a little more covered if we’re gonna be sharing this room with half a dozen other people.” She holds his underwear out to him pointedly. “You have anything to sleep in?”

He tilts his head towards the nightstand, where a neatly folded stack of clothing is lying. She hands him just the pants. “I  _ was _ set to head to bed for the evening, before you showed up,” he says as he pulls them on.

“Mm,” she says, pulling his nightshirt on over her head. It’s far too large for her, but it’s soft and smells like him, and her heart skips a little. “You should probably stop being so damn handsome, then.”

He laughs at her overly dry tone; she’s pretty sure she’ll never get tired of that sound.

She pulls their boots into a neat line at the edge of the bed, then crawls over to sit closer to him. He rests his hand on the small of her back, fingertips pressing into her spine, and half of her debates jumping on top of him again… but she’s well worn-out by now, and can see that he is as well.

And there will be time.

Paine’s heart flutters in her chest.  _ They’re together now.  _ It simultaneously thrills her and makes her want to bolt like a wild animal into the wilderness, never to be seen again. The thought of someone knowing her so intimately, physically and emotionally and mentally, scares her to her deepest core, partly because no one ever has before, and she’s terrified that no one will like what they find when they dig far enough into her. But also because it will hurt that much more if they are torn away from her.

She swallows again, suddenly feeling too exposed, leans down to grab the comforter where it has been pushed partway down the bed and pulls it up over both of them. She flops down, nestling into Nooj’s side, and he sighs as he wraps his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. She blinks the sudden tears out of her eyes, squeezing him tightly.

_ You don’t think we’re both strong enough to make it work now? _

Maybe they are. Maybe she is.

She hopes so.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks gently.

“Rikku,” she lies. He barks out a laugh, full and deep, rumbling against her.

“If you’d rather not endure her relentless teasing, I’ll understand if you want to sleep elsewhere,” he says, though the way his fingers dig into her betrays him. She shakes her head.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at taking it in stride. And knowing how to push her buttons back,” she says.

“Go easy on her,” he says fondly.

“We’ll see.”

Sleepiness overtakes her; she yawns, nuzzles closer to him, listening to the steady beating of his heart and thanking every deity she can think of for it. The last thing she registers before she slips away is Nooj’s big, warm hand stroking her hair and his lips on her forehead.


End file.
